


The Perfect Gift

by Seasider



Series: Dad Vader & Son [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Baby Luke Skywalker, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Mustafar, Parent Darth Vader, Suitless Darth Vader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seasider/pseuds/Seasider
Summary: Shortly after their duel, Obi-Wan arrives on Mustafar with a special delivery for Darth Vader.
Relationships: (mentioned) - Relationship, Darth Vader & Luke Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Darth Vader, Padmé Amidala & Darth Vader
Series: Dad Vader & Son [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2131824
Comments: 25
Kudos: 86





	The Perfect Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Vader lost his limbs, but he didn’t burn. No suit, just prosthetics

_Obi-Wan!_

Fury grew in Vader, rising until it overwhelmed his brain and drowned all reason. He couldn’t think clearly, but he was certain that this time would be different. This time _he_ had the high ground and he would keep it. He knew every centimeter of Mustafar, every treacherous slope, every loose rock that would send a distracted Jedi sliding to his doom.

 _Jedi!_ He hated the word. Hated the Order. Hated Kenobi. His former ‘master’ who betrayed him and stole his love and almost took his life. He despised Kenobi with an intensity that was engulfed only by his berserk hatred of Padme. She hadn’t understood that the Jedi were evil and only interested in conquering and overthrowing the rightful government. She hadn’t understood that they all had to die, even the younglings. She hadn’t understood that he _worshipped_ her and he was doing the _right thing!_

And after their traumatic confrontation, she’d miscarried their child and she’d run. With _him. Kenobi._

He met Obi-Wan on the landing pad, waiting with his saber glowing even brighter in the orange reflections of the lava cascades flowing past them, as though the planet itself was hissing its anger at the Jedi’s arrival.

Kenobi walked down the ramp of Padme’s ship, his gait slightly off-balance, likely out of fear. _Her_ ship! The audacity enraged Vader further. He raised his saber, ready to do battle, to _win,_ but—

The Jedi carried a large bag and a basket instead of a lightsaber. Did he think to break bread as a sign of peace? The fool! Vader laughed harshly. “Prepare to die!”

“I’m prepared,” Kenobi said, his quiet voice carrying over the sounds of living Mustafar. “But first I’ve brought you something.”

“Indeed? You are here to beg for my mercy? But I do not forgive!” he sneered, his fist tightening around the saber’s hilt.

“I beg for your mercy no more than you would ask for my forgiveness.” The older man bent and put the basket on the pad, backing away with hands upheld. “This belongs to you. Padme sent it.”

Vader tilted his head and growled deep in his throat. “She has nothing I want. Not anything that belongs to that faithless whore.”

Kenobi flinched. “She’s not— Anakin, just take it. Don’t leave it sitting here.”

“I no longer recognize that name!” he roared. “I am Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith! You are in _my_ realm now!”

“Yes, well…. Just look. Please.”

It was some sort of ruse. His senses could not detect a bomb or poison, though perhaps such detection was not possible on Mustafar since the planet itself was incendiary. Strangely, he felt no ill intent on the part of Kenobi, only sorrow. And the basket…. Curious, he used the Force to draw it closer. A mewling sound came from inside, barely audible.

A _cat?_ Padme had sent him her _cat?_ Trickery! A loathsome ploy to appeal to his dead heart, a desperate attempt to atone for her deceptions and beg for his return.

Something small and pale waved, like an animal’s leg or—

It was… a tiny human arm, reaching out of the basket. Vader froze. “What is this?”

“It is just what you see. There’s no trick. It’s a baby— _your_ baby. Your son. Padme… can’t take care of him.” Kenobi’s expression fell into grief. “I took him to your half-brother on Tatooine, but his girlfriend Beru had left him. Owen couldn’t raise a baby alone while running the farm. Especially a Force-strong baby.”

Still suspicious but unwilling captivated by the preposterous idea, Vader floated the creature out of the basket. Still he could not sense danger or deceit. It was… a baby. Months old. Small. Helpless.

He grasped the child under its armpits and held it at arm’s-length, studying it. It was tightly wrapped in a yellow blanket, but it had managed to free its arms. How was this possible? It could not be! Padme had miscarried—

Padme had _lied._ She stole his child from him and now she _rejected_ it? This beautiful little human whose tiny fists hit his gloves as its arms flailed wildly. It was so alive, so full of spirit!

“His name is Luke.” Kenobi called from the ship’s ramp. He dropped the bag that had been slung over his shoulder. “You’ll need these supplies. I would’ve kept him if I—”

 _“You_ would have kept _my_ son?” Vader snarled. The baby began to gasp and its— _his—_ face scrunched up as if he was going to cry. He stared at it. “Hush, child.”

“Padme insisted that the boy go to you. Anakin— take care of him! And— and— What are you doing? You need to support his head!”

Of course he did! He _was_ supporting it! He wasn’t ignorant, he knew how to take care of a baby properly. Padme had told him. They’d read books together. Watched holos. And now….

Now she had abandoned her own child. Why? “Did she find your existence to be a problem, little one?” he murmured, drawing the child against his chest. “Or did she hate you simply because you are _mine?”_ He draped his cloak over the baby, belatedly realizing that perhaps it couldn’t tolerate the Mustafar air. He would have a miniature respirator made— or perhaps always keep the boy indoors where it was safe.

A blast of exhaust made him look up. Kenobi had taken off— in Padme’s ship— and he hadn’t even noticed his departure. Why should he? Kenobi was nothing to him now. _Padme_ was nothing to him.

And she was nothing to the boy. His perfect son. The child he’d dreamed about. The child they’d whispered and planned for, shared their delight about the years ahead. And now she didn’t want him. Either of them.

“Luke,” he whispered, resting his lips against the wispy curls that covered the fragile skull. “Let’s get you inside, Son.”

He hefted the bag, hoping it contained nourishment and— Well, probably diapers. He needed a nanny. No, a droid. He would reprogram a droid to assist with the chores. And he had to prepare formula and order clothes. The baby needed a bed— no, a crib. He needed little socks to protect his feet. Shoes when he started walking, sturdy shoes so he could walk on the heat without pain. Toys! He needed toys, he needed so much.

Luke needed his father.

Vader’s breath was shaking. He had a son. He was not alone. He had all he wanted. Nothing else mattered any longer. “We are going to build a life together, little one, and it will be as perfect as you are.”

A perfect life. They both deserved that much.

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly this is a prequel to Mustafar: We Meet Again. And/or it may be a daddy-son series. I haven’t decided. Or rather, Vader hasn’t decided, and I’m not in a position to argue with him.


End file.
